A Rhyme
by paranoidwench
Summary: One for Sorrow, the sorrow of a nation. The war has been won, yet in their hearts the battle continues. [post Hogwarts]


Disclaimer: I only own the plot, okay?  
  
One for Sorrow  
  
It had been a year since Voldermort had been defeated. Although the suffering and anguish had lessened, it had not disappeared. The wizarding population where out for the blood of those they felt were responsible. Who cared if the wrong people were persecuted? Who cared if mistakes were made? It didn't matter as long as it eased the grief in their hearts...  
  
*  
  
The Hogwarts Express steamed its way to London, lashed by summer rain. Ginny Weasley sat alone in a compartment, watching the scenery rush by through a curtain of rain. Grey fields merged into grey woods, into grey lakes and again into grey fields. She smiled sadly to herself. This was truly British weather.  
  
So far, her journey had been solitary. It wasn't that she didn't have any friends, but sometimes you needed time alone to truly think. She contemplated what she would do, now that her seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts was over. Pressing her forehead against the cool window pane, she closed her weary eyes and stifled a yawn. Lulled by the rhythmic pattering above her, she fell asleep...  
  
...and dreamt.  
  
She found herself staring at a clear blue sky, unblemished by clouds of any shape. The air was still, and nothing stirred the golden grass that towered over her. However, the silence was abruptly shattered by an array of colourful language. Sitting up slightly alarmed, Ginny caught sight of the disturbance. It was a small blonde boy, tugging fruitlessly at a sword that was firmly wedged into a large rock. Ginny stared at him in confusion for a few seconds. He seemed very familiar. Was it his clearly expensive robes? Or his dirty-dishwater grey eyes that where narrowed vehemently at the stubborn piece of weaponry?  
  
Snapping herself out of her thoughts, she quickly strode up to the rock. "Here, let me help." She said kindly. He didn't even look at her.  
  
"You're a girl. You can't help." When these words were mumbled, the dream world slowly dissolved into darkness.  
  
The train jerked to a halt, shaking Ginny out of that place between consciousness and sleep. It seemed that she had slept throughout the whole journey, yet she didn't feel rested. Far from it.  
  
*  
  
"Now Ginny, you have to understand that Ron's changed quite a lot."  
  
"I know mum." Ginny stumbled in the wake of her small bustling mother. They were walking briskly through one of London's many busy streets. Rain poured in buckets, and Ginny's broken umbrella was held limply by her side.  
  
"He's not the same after, you know, what happened—" She petered out, and didn't say another word until they'd gotten to St. Mungo's. Through the sheet of icy water-like glass, up four flights of stairs, and into a room shared by four long-term patients. One of whom was Ron Weasley. He lay on his bed, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. His fingers gripped the bed covers tightly, as though his life depended on them. As though they were the only real hold he had on this side of reality. Molly rushed in, a whirlwind of slightly shabby clothes. She filled the sanitized ward with the smell of baking and vanilla.  
  
"Hello Ron! How're you feeling today?" She asked brightly, setting herself down on the edge of his bed. Her youngest son turned his head slowly towards her, his eyes were opened so wide they were slightly disturbing. Molly continued to chatter on, she'd had a year to get used to the routine. However, Ginny lingered at the door, afraid to move in further. Nibbling her lips nervously, she came forward- soaked in an unexplainable guilt.  
  
*  
  
...She dreamt. The field. The stone. The sword unsheathed and lying along the earthy floor. But no sign of the boy. A forest appeared to her left, dark and mysterious, lilies and brambles creeping from all sides. The tree leaves whispered, beckoning her to enter. A chilly breeze swirled around her...  
  
...and she woke up.  
  
Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. The plain white ceiling of her room was now a faint pink, washed by glow of the sun filtering through her pink curtains that billowed in a breeze and where getting slightly damp from the unrelenting rain. She felt exhausted, yet sleep did nothing for her. It rarely did these days, and she was haunted by the same dream. She lay on her bed wondering, if the cold hadn't woken her up, would she have gone in?  
  
Later that day, she sat at the worn out, yet immaculately clean, table in the kitchen. The house seemed unnaturally silent. Ever since as far as she could remember, The Burrow had always been full of noise. Feet scurrying up and down the stairs, doors banging open and closing, her mother raging at the twins. It had been a higgledy-piggledy house full of life. Now it was merely bleak and weathered, the happiness sucked out by many years of loss...  
  
Clutching a mug of coffee, she sat hunched. Unkempt hair falling into hair face. She'd been flicking through an old photo album, and most of the pictures brought a smile to her face. But there were some that filled her heart with despair. A few tears sloshed into the coffee, unnoticed.  
  
*  
  
"Hello Ron!" Ginny had left her mother to feed the chickens and had come to visit her brother. As he stared at her with empty eyes, she felt another pang of guilt. "Um—I brought you something—I—I thought you might like to see it." She stammered fumbling with the heavy red leathered album she'd decided to bring with her. "They're pictures..." She opened the covered, and was relieved to see that Ron's eyes were looking at the yellowed pages.  
  
The first was a family picture. Six freckled faces smiled and waved at them, however Molly Weasley was holding ten year old Fred and George by the ears and telling them off for something or other. Ginny smiled sadly, however Ron's face remained blank. She turned the page. It was a picture of Hermione at the end of their fifth year. Something in Ron's eyes flickered for a second before returning to there empty state.  
  
"That's Hermione, Ron. Do you remember her? I got a postcard from her the other day. She's in Egypt, remember? Researching ancient Egyptian wizards. She said she always wanted to go their didn't she?" However, Ginny knew that her rambling was only half the truth. Hermione was in Egypt because her parents wanted her to take a break from the British Wizarding world. She turned the page. She swallowed nervously before talking.  
  
"And there's Harry—he's—he's..." She faltered.  
  
"Dead." Announced a familiar voice, taking her by so much surprise that she dropped the photo album. She looked quickly at Ron. He'd turned his head away and was now staring unseeingly ahead of him. "Harry is dead." He said again in slow measured tones, his voice hoarse from lack of use.  
  
"Yes, Harry's dead." Ginny looked down at her hands, eyes misting over.  
  
* 


End file.
